Love Never Dies: How I Knew the Phantom of the Opera
by auroraninetynineclassof2017
Summary: This is the story of how my father and I found each other and sought each other in a world of night and music and how we developed not only a kind of love but a but a special bond that will last for a life time.
1. Chapter 1

Love Never Dies: How I Knew the Phantom of the Opera.

My name is Juliet Daaè. I am a Parisian and live in New York with my Father. But, he wasn't always my Father. In fact, he didn't know I was his daughter. We only discovered each other five years ago on that fateful day in Coney Island. This is the story of how we found each other and sought each other in a world of night and music and how we developed not only a kind of love but a special bond that will last for a life time.

It started in Paris, when I was ten years old, back when I was Juliet de Chagny. My Mother was the famous opera singer, Christine Daaè and the man I thought was my father was Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny. Mother had a career for a long time at the Opera Populaire, where she started out in the corps de ballet and became the lead soprano. However, in 1895, the opera house mysteriously burned down and mother became unemployed. As for father, he didn't work because he had a family fortune enough to last a while. But as the money slowly dwindled down, we became desperate. Then a miracle happened.

Mother one day received a letter saying to come to Coney Island to perform an aria written in her honor by an admirer at a fair for an enormous sum of American money which would be enough to pay our debts to the bank and save a lot for ourselves to boot. Mother and father said yes immediately. I was excited along with Mother to go to America because it would be an adventure but father was reluctant since he preferred to stay in France. But we needed the money, so we packed our bags and left. People in France had always talked about Coney Island and how beautiful the beach was there, so I was thinking that I could learn to swim while I was there.

When we arrived in New York, we were greeted by three circus performers who told us of the fair where mother would perform: Phantasma. The name sent an excited chill down my spine; Phantasma sounded mysterious and thrilling, but had a sense of beauty. I looked at Mother, who I thought would be as excited as I was but in her eyes, I saw a slight look of reminiscing and fright. The three performers then took us to our hotel in a horseless carriage which was the strangest thing I had ever seen. But it was comfy and warm since it had started to rain. When we arrived, we found out that the manager was paying for our suite, which was I thought a generous thing to do, but father mumbled, "Does he think we are incapable of payments?" Mother and father went in, but one of the performers stopped me. I turned and he gave me a red box with a silver bow. "For you," he said, "from all of us at Phantasma."

I curtsied. "Thank you, _monsieur_." I ran into what was to be my room. There was a canopy bed and a bureau with a closest and bookshelf and the room had large windows that showed the skyline. I lay down on the bed and opened the gift. It was a snow globe with tents of black and white with a ferris wheel and little tiny performers inside. There was a black sign which in silvery script said " _Phantasma_ " _._ I turned the key on the side of the globe and Phantasma came to life with twinkling little lights. The globe also played a song I had never heard before but it was so enchanting and brooding. I smiled at the gift and went to show mother and father.

They were in the sitting room and father was yelling about how this was a "dreadful town" with "filthy American money". He then pulled out a brandy bottle and began to drink. That was one of the reasons money ran out: father began to drink more and more after mother lost her job at the Opera Populaire. Mother was standing near by, silent as a tomb. This was one of father's rants and whenever this happened, she remained silent and let father go on to vent his anger. "Father, come play with me!" I cheered. He didn't hear me. He kept griping about Coney Island. "Father, come play with me, please." I repeated; nothing. "Father, come play with me! Look at this toy the performers gave me!" "Juliet!" he bellowed, "No! Not now!" I shut my mouth.

I then noticed the piano in the suite. I let out a little gasp of delight; I loved the piano so much. Mother had given me singing lessons when I was old enough and that piqued my curiosity about instruments. So, I was given piano lessons. I had a hidden talent that I didn't know about it seemed for my teacher called me a prodigy. So I sat down and began to play a song. For some reason, music was always forming in my head. Not just music I'd heard before but music that I made up in my mind. This song was just a soft, light aria I had been thinking of.

"What is that song?" father asked, seeming to have calmed down. "Just a song in my head," I replied. Mother stared at me, eyes wide. "In your head?" "Yes. For some reason, I have these beautiful little songs that I create floating around in my mind like water. I can't explain it; it's just something I do." Father gave a little nod and went back to his brandy while mother continued to stare at me, her mouth slightly open.

At the end of the song, I went up to father since he looked calmer. "Father, look at this toy I was given by one of the performers from Phantasma. When you wind it, it plays a song." I sat on the floor and turned the key and the globe lit up. Father sat in the chaise and watched politely and with slight intrigue. When the song ended, I looked up at him. "Isn't it lovely?" "I suppose so if you're into that sort of thing," he replied. I looked at mother. "Isn't it lovely, _maman_?" Mother didn't answer; she seemed to be in another place and frightened of it. I stood up, concerned. " _Maman_? Are you alright?" She gave a slight jolt and turned. "What? Oh! Yes, the toy is lovely. Very lovely indeed darling. How generous." "Do you know what the song is?" Mother stared at the globe. "It's from an opera I was in called _Don Juan Triumphant_. It's _the Point of No Return._ "

There came a knock at the door. "What?" father groaned, rubbing his temples. In walked a telegraph boy and he held out a small envelope. "Message for you, sir." Father snatched the bit of paper and tore it open. His eyes whizzed back and forth and then he gave a smile, or what would seem to others a sort of smirk. "It's Phantasma's Manager. He wants to meet with me in the hotel lobby. No doubt he'll apologize for sending his freaks." Father grabbed his coat and buttoned it up. I walked tentatively forward. "Father, when you get back, will you play with me or go for a walk? The rain's let up." "No, Juliet." He replied absently. "Father, please…" He jerked his head at me. "Please what?" he mocked back. I blushed and looked at my shoes. "Nothing." He strutted off and shut the door.

I stared at my new globe and felt a burn at the back of my throat as my eyes watered. Father was always mocking me and shooting back retorts and it felt cruel, like having a girl wasn't his idea. Like he just never wanted to share his love with anyone else but my mother and I was a nagging interference. And it made me feel inferior. "Father never plays with me," I sniffled, "doesn't he love me?" "Oh, darling," pitied mother. She walked over and sat down on the footstool, putting her hand gently and comfortingly on my cheek. She then began to sing.

" _Love's a curious thing. It often comes disguised._

 _Look at love the wrong way, it goes unrecognized_ _."_

Mother then put her hand gently over my chest and I sadly smiled.

" _So, look with your heart and not with your eyes,_

 _The heart understands, the heart never lies._

 _Believe what it feels and trust what it shows,_

 _Look with your heart, the heart always knows_ _."_

" _Love's not always beautiful_ _,"_ she caressed and gave my nose a friendly caring tweak. I let out a giggle as I brushed my nose and looked up at her radiant face. She then took my hands and spread my arms wide, our eyes beaming at one another

" _Not at the start._

 _So, open your arms and close your eyes tight._

 _Look with your heart, and when it finds love, your heart will be bright_ _."_

I squeezed her hand and sat beside her on the footstool. She let me lay across her lap and she stroked my hair as I closed my eyes and drank in her voice; a voice more precious than diamonds and gold.

" _Learn from someone who knows._

 _Make sure you don't forget,_

 _Love you misunderstand_

 _Is love that you'll regret._ _"_ And her voice faded out.

I didn't notice it then, but it's something that I often think about now. When Mother sang about love that you regret, it sounded as if she knew what that felt like firsthand. As if she had misunderstood a love long ago that she chose not to take and she was regretting it now. Sometimes, I ponder and wonder if father knew about the lost love of Mother's even then and if that's why their relationship was so troubled. But at that time, I took over singing.

" _Look with your heart and not with your eyes_ _._

 _The heart can't be fooled_ _."_

Mother seemed to recover and joined in, sitting me back up. _"_ _The heart is too wise_ _."_

" _Forget what you think_ _."_ I declared.

" _Ignore what you hear_ _,"_ Mother chimed in and we both sang:

" _Look with your heart, it always sees clear_ _."_

" _Love's not always beautiful_ _,"_ I repeated as I tweaked Mother's nose back and she laughed. _"_ _Not at the start_ _."_ Mother kissed my bang covered forehead and held my face as she sang:

" _But open your arms and close your eyes tight._

 _But look with your heart, and when it finds love,_

 _Your heart will be right_ _."_


	2. Chapter 2

I felt much better and gave mother a tight hug. I realized she was right: father did love me, but he wasn't good at showing it. We then pulled apart. Mother then suggested we go to a restaurant on the island and go for a walk. I concurred and we began our tour of Coney Island. It was a busy bustling place and had a rough exterior, but when you got used to it, the people were friendly and it was a glittering place. Journalists and photographers were constantly hounding on us, but mother treated them with courtesy and answered all of their questions. Earlier on the ship to America, we had our throats shoved down with questions by American press, but father didn't let Mother get a single word in. He was very accusatory and brisk with them.

But Mother treated everyone with kindness. It was a virtue in her that I try to live up to today. As we had dinner and went for our walk, I gazed at mother with admiration. She had a beautiful operatic voice and was a beautiful person, inside and out. She would be there for you even when times were tough. Even when people weren't nice to her, she'd treat them with respect to soften them up, like with father. And eventually, everyone came to love her. She wasn't only my mother, but she was my idol, and dear friend. She was everything I aspired to be. I think of those days now, and cherish them with every fiber of my body. I was very lucky to have Christine Daaè as my mother. Not many women are like that.

The next few days I spent with Mother as she rehearsed at Phantasma. I was allowed to explore the fair by myself until it was time to come home. It was a place of magic. There were acrobats who didn't need nets or harnesses. Conjurers performed real magic, the kind that isn't fake with secret devices. A gypsy read your palm and illustrated cards and told your destiny through a crystal ball. There were animals from exotic countries that I'd only seen in books. A carousel had carved magical creatures and around the corners walked phantoms and automatons. And there were rooms devoted to music and illusion.

There were special people who could lift tons of weight, breathe fire, swallow swords, or twist their bodies into uncomfortable shapes.

There was a girl named Meg Giry and a group of dancers who performed an act called "Bathing Beauty." We first came across her on the day we first took a tour of the park. She had apparently just gotten back from swimming for she was wearing a bathrobe and toweling her sopping blonde hair. When she saw Mother's face, she stopped and stared as if a memory was nudging her brain. Mother stopped, too when she saw Miss Giry stare after her. "Can I help you?" Mother asked politely. Meg looked at Mother from head to toe. "Could it possibly be…Oh, My God...I can't believe it!" and she smiled in surprised delight. Mother blinked. "Sorry, but do I know you?" Meg's smile slightly vanished "Don't you remember me, Christine?" Mother seemed confused and comprehension dawned on her face. "Oh, my goodness! Meg!" And they rushed forward and hugged each other.

There was the usual "How are you doing?" "What's new?" "You haven't changed a bit!" etc. And then Meg brought out her mother, Madame Giry, a formidable dark haired woman who choreographed Meg's show. They offered Mother a cup of coffee which she gladly took. Mother then introduced me (having been caught up in the moment) and told me that she and Miss Giry were dancers in the ballet at the Opera Populaire together. "So, what are you doing here," Meg asked, "seeing the sights of Coney Island?" "Well yes," Mother replied, "but I actually came here to sing." Meg's smile faltered. "Sing? When?" Mother told her the set date. "That night? But that's the leading lady's slot and I've been booked for my big break." "Oh, no!" Mother held Meg's arm. "Well there must be some confusion. I'm just singing an aria. Maybe there was a mistake in the scheduling." "Undoubtedly," said Madame Giry, "I'll bring it up with the owner." After a few more minutes, we said goodbye and left to see the other sights.

But my favorite room was a room of mirrors that played soft classical music I had never heard before but was so beautiful. I would dance and sing in that room to my heart's content and watch it from all angles in the mirrors. Once, I was there the entire day. But Phantasma was best at night; the darkness would enhance the wonders and dreams and Phantasma developed a mysterious life of its own. Then came that fateful night.

It was my bed time. I couldn't sleep and I was tossing and turning. But, I stayed quiet to listen to the sounds of the night. Night is my favorite time of day; even though day time is bright and fun enough the night always wrapped its arms around me and made me feel welcome, so I looked forward to its mysteries. Then, I heard a swish of cloth by my window. I sat up, but saw nothing. I figured it was my imagination, so I went back on the pillow. Then, I hear a voice: Mother's frightened and accusing. I heard another voice, this of a man but not father. This man's voice was deep and rich and radiated power but was as soft as gossamer. However, there was a hint of sadness as well that I couldn't place. I sat up and listened. After the man talked for a second, he began to sing.

It was one of the most beautiful sounds I have ever heard in my life, absolutely filled with emotion. It was a strange, sweet sound that I had never heard before. I felt as if my soul was floating on air. It sounded like an angel had come to Earth. And then Mother joined him and I felt like the most powerful forces in the world were being emanated from her and the mysterious man. I didn't want the wonderful noise to end, but Mother cut it abruptly, yelling and telling the man to leave. I got out of bed; what was this man doing to my Mother? I ran out of my room and located the noise on the main balcony of our suite, which overlooked Phantasma. I rushed to it opened the door and ran to Mother who appeared to be staring at nothing.

"Mother! I heard you shout! Is everything alright?! Mother, please, I'm scared!" I hugged her and she stroked my hair. "Everything's fine, darling. Don't worry." She then looked at me. "Come and meet a friend of mine." I let go and turned. Standing across from Mother, there was indeed a man. He wore a black, intricate, high collar, cape like coat and black suit with a black tie. He also had a ring with a black gem on his right hand. His hair was slicked back and was black as well. The man was tall and carried himself like a king. To me, he was a king. As for his face, half of it was concealed by a white mask, but the half I could see was beautifully, handsomely pale but with a sort of Middle Eastern flare and sharp angled. His eyes (a shade of dark blue) were powerful, but looked as if he knew all of world's sorrows. In other words, he was magnificent.

"Juliet, this is my friend Erik." I looked into his eyes which I felt piercing into me. He kneeled until he was at eye level with me and he took my hand, giving it a light kiss. "A pleasure _, mademoiselle_." I smiled and curtsied. "Same to you, _monsieur_." He smiled at me. "Welcome to my world, my friend." I blinked. "Your world?" I asked. "What world is that?" He gestured towards Phantasma. I gasped. " _You're_ the owner of Phantasma?!" "Owner and soul creator. Do you like my world?" he asked. "Oh, yes," I said, reminiscing. "It's a beautiful mysterious world. My favorite room is the room of mirrors with the soft classical music. I could spend eons in there!"

Erik put his hands on my shoulders. "I'm glad you like it. _My_ Phantasma, _mademoiselle_ Vicomte, on Coney Island." He lifted me up onto the railing of the balcony so I could have a better view. Mother let out a gasp of "No!" and clutched my arm tight. Erik ignored her. As for me, I felt on top of the world looking at that domain of Phantasma where my fantasies came to life and the God who created it was right here. "A world of fantasy," he continued, "where illusion is emperor." Just the way he said _illusion_ gave me thrilling goose bumps. "Tell me where you'd like to go," Erik said to me, "Tell me what you want to see. I can grant any wish." Mother gasped again and began pulling at my arm trying to get me away from Erik, but he held me firmly. " _Madame_ , please," he said to her as he brushed her arm away, "I _insist_."

I looked out at Phantasma at the wondrous spectacle that it was. "Can you please show me all the mysteries behind Phantasma? I want to see all of the strange, wild and dark things that make Phantasma what it is, in the shadows of the park." I looked into Erik's eyes, which were filled with delight. He put me down from the balcony and took my hand again. "You shall see it all tomorrow. In fact, I _myself_ will show you. I promise," he caressed. My eyes and mouth widened. _The creator and owner of Phantasma was going to show me how he made his glorious wonderland and he was going to show it to me himself!_ I was on a heavenly cloud that would never come down.

Mother quickly grabbed me. "Back to sleep now, Juliet." Erik opened the doors so mother and I could walk into the living room. As Mother was holding my shoulders, she was trembling and breathing fast. I looked up at her face, which had turned as white as salt. I was puzzled; why was Mother afraid of Erik? To me, he seemed like a wonderful, gracious, nice gentleman. There was one thing I couldn't get off my mind: Erik's mask. "Why does he wear a mask, Mother? Is he a magician?" I asked. She looked down, snapping out of her fear. "Yes, darling," she replied, "In his way." That made me more excited. Erik closed the balcony doors and turned to me. "I will send for you while you and your mother are at the park tomorrow night." I nodded and headed for the door but I stopped and curtsied. "Good night, _monsieur_ Erik and thank you." He bowed to me. "Have pleasant dreams, _mademoiselle_ Vicomte. I look forward to seeing you." I smiled and left the room, shutting the door.

As I walked out, I heard Erik say, "What a child. Full of life." I smiled and ran into my room. I took my globe of Phantasma and turned the key and watched it. Erik seemed to me like an angel of music. He was showing me his own private world which I felt was my world also. I felt like we had something in common, a special bond that I couldn't explain. I couldn't wait for tomorrow. But the only thing that puzzled me was why Mother was scared of Erik. Several minutes later, I heard her footsteps down the hall. I opened my door and crept out. "Where's Erik?" She turned. "Oh! Juliet! He left." She then proceeded to walk away. "Mother, why does Erik scare you?" She froze, stood rigid. Then, slowly, she turned around. "Let's just say he expects you to keep your promises." I laughed. "Oh, Mother, don't worry. I'll keep my promise to him. Besides, he seems so kind and so regal like a gentleman or a king. Oh, I look forward to seeing him again tomorrow." And I turned back and went to my room.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, all I could think of was my meeting with Erik. I wanted to make sure that I was my best for the owner of Phantasma, so I put on my best black dress and tied a bow into my hair to look neat. I also made sure the ribbon was black, like the night. As mother fastened my black cape she said, "Juliet, you are not to tell your father about this meeting, understand?" I didn't question her for I was sure mother had her reasons, so I agreed. Mother and I then walked down to Phantasma together talking and laughing along the way. When we arrived at the main stage where Mother would perform, she began to rehearse. The song was an aria that told the story of love and Mother's voice just emphasized its beauty. After a while, I decided to go for a walk as I was getting sleepy sitting there. So, I rose from I seat and left. Mother wouldn't worry as I had walked around the park before.

I walked around the labyrinth of Phantasma trying to keep track of all the twists and turns so I could find my way back. You see, the park was so big, that it took up approximately 1/5 of Coney Island, so there were always new wonders to discover. I bought a snack from a vendor and walked along until I came to a hall called _Once upon a Phantasma: a History_. This was definitely a part of the park I had never been to before because I didn't remember seeing this tent in the days I'd been there. Naturally curious and wondering what this tent had in store, I threw out my snack and walked in.

The tent was very much like a museum with glass cases holding various articles of clothing and black and white photographs, each with a short informational caption. The photographs were of the park when it was in its infancy and that's what the costumes were from also. They were very old, but quaintly elegant. Then, a portrait caught my eye. It was _monsieur_ Erik, still looking like a king but with no trace or even an attempt of a smile. Yet, the painting didn't repel me for some reason; it just made me want to know why a smile wasn't there. There was a gold plaque underneath and I bent over to read it.

It stated how _monsieur_ Erik was originally from France and had come here ten years ago. His park had grown famous as did his wealth. It got to the point where all of Coney Island belonged to him and he became very powerful. You very quickly got the idea that _monsieur_ Erik was a man who you wouldn't want to come across in a bad way. After a little more exploring, I left the tent.

I began to walk again, when I noticed some shapes out of the corner of my eye. There was a short thin shape, a tall massive shape, and a tall thin shape. From their silhouettes, they seemed to be people, but very sinister people. I walked further, but the shapes followed me. I cut across some carts pushed by merchants which resulted in some angry shouts, but the shadows remained in hot pursuit. The sweat began to form. I kept taking elusive turns to shake the shadows off, but to no avail, with the shadows gaining. I was hoping that the oncoming darkness would make them get confused, but they weren't fooled and remained on the trail. After some time, I tripped and fell on the ground. I dizzily got back up on my feet, brushing my cape. The shadows had caught up to me and I could now see who they were.

"Who are you?" I demanded with my speech slightly shaky. The person who had been the short thin shadow stepped forward. It was a woman wearing a tight black dress and a black oddly shaped hat and a frilly cloak that framed her figure. Her face was pale and her black eye shadow made her look more gaunt and hollow. "I am Miss Fleck," she said in an airy voice. "The Mighty Squelch," said the large tall shadow in a deep gravelly voice. This bald man was all muscle with a tattoo covered face and his 6 ft height made him more intimidating. I swallowed; I could see why they called him Squelch because that was probably what he did to you if you got into a fight with him. And the tall thin shadow stepped forward. It was a man who was the opposite of Squeltch seeming to be made of all bones and no muscle. He wore a monocle on his sharp beak like nose which went well with his skeleton like figure and tailed jacket. "Dr. Gangle," he said in a sinister light voice and smiled an almost too pearly white smile that made it seem like he would be your friend one minute and stab you with a knife the next. And he definitely didn't look like a doctor to me. All three of them bowed and said in unison "At your service." I turned, prepared to bolt, for I certainly didn't want these people's services. But then Miss Fleck said the magic words that caught my attention: "And _his_." I froze; there could be only one man she was referring to.

Dr. Gangle called to me: "Come along and follow us."

Miss Fleck called: "Come and follow faster."

Squelch said: "Come along and follow us."

And they all said: "Come and meet the master. Soon the dark will swallow us. Hurry if you care to. Soon the dark will swallow us…follow if you _dare_ to."

I turned, affronted that these people question my cunning; did I dare? I most certainly did. Without thinking twice, I went off with the three of them in the lead. The night kept growing as we walked on and the park's lights began to glimmer. They seemed to say: " _Come, Juliet. This way to our master._ " We came to a stop at my favorite tent. I was lead inside and to the grandest mirror. It was as tall as the tent itself and had a curled golden frame. Miss Fleck ran her hand down the glass and I watched my astonished gaze as it rippled like water and melted away, revealing a flight of stairs and hurtling blackness where you could only hear dripping water. Squelch nudged me forward, but I knew there was no way I was going down those stairs.

Then, I heard a voice in my head. " _Do not be afraid_." My heart leapt: it was Erik! " _When you are with me, you are safe in my domain. You must trust me, Juliet_." And when he said my name, I felt like the most loved person in the world. So, I took a deep breath and walked down the steps.

The steps felt like they would go on forever. There were cob webs everywhere and I felt rats skitter past my feet, but I remembered Erik's words: do not be afraid. When we finally reached the end, there was a vast, glassy lake with swirling mist and there was a small, cushioned black boat. It reminded me of the Greek myths I loved to read, with Charon and his boat, where he would take the souls of the dead across the river Styx to the realm of Hades if they had a drachma. Dr. Gangle helped me in and gave Miss Fleck the lantern. He then took a long stick and began to steer the boat for what felt like hours. The boat was also big enough for Squelch so he sat beside me and kept watch, which I guess made me feel better, because what man in their right mind would attack our boat with him sitting in it? When the boat stopped, we arrived at a concrete dock and there was a wooden door in a black wall which looked like glass.

"Is this where _monsieur_ Erik lives?" I asked. "Yes, but where we are right now is the area where he works," replied Dr. Gangle as he lowered the stick and all three of them got out. "Step lively, child," said Miss Fleck which made me bristle for I hated being called _child_. "He is waiting," Squelch demanded in an impatient tone. As I was helped out, Miss Fleck took a key from a big ring and inserted it in the lock which let out a tiny click. I was ushered in and the beauty of the room took my breath away so that I couldn't even hear the door thud shut.

The room was very simple but gave you an illusion of stepping in the heavens. The ceiling was high up and had a small crystal chandelier at the top which softly glowed. Twisted candles were all around, flickering like stars on black iron statues of angels. In a corner, there was a shelf with parchment and books. Against a wall was a long desk that had music sheets on it with a bottle of ink and a quill. In the center of the room on the black marble floor was a black piano that had raised pieces of wood on it that curled around the piano legs and there was a black book embossed with gold on the cover on the piano's music stand. This was a sacred place of music.

I gazed upward smiling with my arms spread open wide. Then, a door from the left side of the room opened. It was Erik, wearing his black suit with a long black jacket carrying a tall candelabra. "Good evening, _mademoiselle_ Vicomte." "Good evening, _monsieur_ Erik." "Do you like this room?" he asked as he shut the door. "Yes. It's _beautiful_. But what is this place?" He walked toward me. "This is my realm, illusion's domain where music and beauty and artifice reign." I gasped with glee. He set the candelabra down on the piano and brushed his hand over my hair. "One moment, _mademoiselle_ Vicomte, while I prepare our adventure."

I ran up to the piano and sat on the bench. I looked up at Erik. "May I?" I inquired. Erik had just been about to walk off, but he turned at my question. "Does the young _mademoiselle_ Vicomte play?" I nodded and began to play a piece that I had made in my head since when I met him the other night: soft, mysterious, entrancing, and slightly playful. He walked over. "What's this?" He didn't sound put off, but genuinely intrigued. "Just a song in my head," I replied. Erik gestured at the keys. "Go on."

So I kept playing. "I think it's beautiful," I said, "How the notes die and fall just like the night as it calms and controls. How the notes are always floating, falling, sweetly intoxicating like all the songs in my head are. They all capture the personality of the night: mysterious, wondrous, soft, bold, thrilling, and hypnotizing. But it always calms you and gives you a sense of love and hope and comfort as the stars and moon electrify you and fill you with their soft light. I love nighttime and I always try to put it in my music."

I then kept on playing and looked up at Erik. He was staring at me in disbelief and astonishment and he clutched the piano. As I kept playing, Erik circled me and kept mumbling. "This girl…this music…she plays like me…" He then walked away from me and stopped. "She's just ten years old." The trio (who had been standing in a corner the whole time) gasped, their eyes popping wide as they stared at me. Erik turned and looked at me. "Ten years old!" And he stared at me as if I was his saving grace. He began to pace. "My God!" After a few seconds, he lifted me off of the piano bench and took my hand. "Come with me," he commanded, "I want to show you something. Follow me. I want to know what you think." And with that, he opened a door I hadn't seen and Erik whisked me away.


	4. Chapter 4

We walked up a staircase which began to move as soon as we were on the top step. Erik then sang and I drank in every word he said, possessed by his spell of words while I gazed out with him into the dark. And as if we were possessed by Apollo and his lyre, all of our next words were sung.

 _"Have you ever yearned to go past the world you think you know?_

 _Been enthralled to the call of the Beauty Underneath?_

 _Have you let it draw you in past the place where dreams begin?_

 _Felt the full breathless pull of the Beauty Underneath?"_

He then gestured toward the dark with his arm as the staircase raised us high and took us further. I then saw what Erik was showing me: people in black leotards dancing around tall, ominous, gothic obelisks made of mirrors dancing in a slick gracefulness and vocalizing hauntingly in a room ensnared with steel. I then realized where he had taken me: we were in the part of Phantasma that no one but Erik (and now me) had seen.

 _"When the dark unfolds its wings, do you sense the strangest things?_

_Things no one would ever guess? Things mere words cannot express?"_

He put his hand on me and I looked into those beautiful eyes. " _Yes!_ " Erik then led me down the steps which had stopped moving.

 _"Do you find yourself beguiled by the dangerous and wild?_

 _Do you feed on the need for the Beauty Underneath?"_

Then twinkling lights of red began to appear on the walls depicting Phantasma and red intricate designs could be seen on the dancer's clothes and faces. Erik walked me forward as the dancers formed one giant mass around us and began to dance up silver ropes.

 _"_ _Have you felt your senses surge and surrender to the urge_

 _And been hooked as you looked at the Beauty Underneath?_

 _When you stare behind the night can you glimpse its primal might?_

 _Might you hunger to possess hunger that you can't repress?"_

A dancer lifted me up into the air and I stared up in longing at the hurtling black above. " _Yes!_ " The dancer then lowered me back down. " _It seems so beautiful,_ " I said looking at the dancers, " _So strange yet beautiful._ Oh, Erik, _everything is just as you say!_ "

The dancers were now gone and bald men and women in white now came out in frilly dresses of white or black and white pinstripes with white painted faces with black sunken eyes and black painted lips. They rode tall bicycles and unicycles or dancing as well, but in a strange, alien, more staccato way even though some parts were graceful and they sang hauntingly as well. They also had an enormous marionette made of bones hovering in the air depicting a centaur being ridden by a monster. I walked off looking around at the bald people who touched me as I walked by with the same interest and curiosity I felt about them.

But Erik stayed put. I heard him say: " _And she's so beautiful, perhaps_ _too_ _beautiful._ _Oh, what I suspect, it cannot be! And yet, somehow, we both see the very same way_ _!_ " I turned and ran toward him. He went down on his knees and gripped my shoulders tight and looked at me as if he was seeing a twin he never knew about but she had just come into his life. I took his hands; he had sung everything I had ever felt in my life, now I would sing back to him, to see if he was truly like me.

 _"Is there music in your head?_

 _Have you followed where it's led?_

 _And been graced with a taste of the Beauty Underneath?_

 _Does it fill your every sense?_

 _Is it terribly intense?_

 _Tell me you need it too, need the Beauty Underneath?"_

Erik had his mouth open as I sang and shouted, " _Yes!_ " I gasped. "So you know! You know all about the power of the night and the music that it makes! You do understand me!" He stood up and we walked around the people into the now clear twinkling lights. We began to sing together as two kindred spirits.

 _"_ _When it lifts its voice and sings, don't you feel amazing things?_

 _Things you know you can't confess_

 _Things you thirst for nonetheless?"_

Then, the mirrors lit up and inside were people; A male Gypsy with extra limb so he looked like a human spider, a woman who seemed to be floating but if you looked closer you saw her lower limbs were a fish tail, a tattooed man singing and stretching his hands up a rope, a bald woman in a beautiful butterfly costume sitting on a trapeze, and a man with incredibly long finger nails. I looked at all of them. "Erik, _your world is so beautiful! Almost too_ _beautiful!_ " Erik gazed at me. "Oh, Juliet, _can it be?!_ " Our eyes locked as I turned and we said simultaneously: " _Do you see what I see?_ " I walked in the middle of the obelisks. "It's heaven!" I exclaimed.

Erik walked in front of an obelisk. " _To her it's beautiful!_ " he said to himself. " _My world_ _is beautiful!_ " I looked up and thought aloud, " _How can this be what it seems?_ " Erik and I walked towards each other and as he put his arm around me we both sang, " _It's all of my most secret dreams… somehow set free!_ " Erik let go and walked off, beckoning me to come hither; I followed. He began walking around in a circle.

He touched each of the obelisks. " _You can feel it…_ "

" _Yes!_ " I said, almost breathless.

" _Come closer…_ "

" _Yes!_ " I rushed up to him.

" _You've no fear of the Beauty Underneath._ " And he extended out his hand toward my face as if possessing me and I began to vocalize. I took his hand and he walked us to the center of the obelisks.

" _You can face it?_ "

" _Yes!_ "

" _You can take it?_ "

" _Yes!_ "

" _You see through to the Beauty Underneath? To the splendor…_ "

" _To the splendor!_ "

" _And the glory…_ "

" _And the glory!_ "

" _To the truth of the Beauty Underneath…_ "

" _The Beauty Underneath!_ "

" _You accept it?_ "

" _Yes!_ "

" _You embrace it?_ "

" _Yes!_ "

" _Let me show you the Beauty Underneath! To the splendor…_ "

" _Splendor!_ "

" _To the glory…_ "

" _Glory!_ "

" _To the dream of the Beauty Underneath!_ "

" _The Beauty Underneath!_ " and I took his hand.

" _You'll accept it?!_ " Erik sang, rushing and kneeling in front of me.

" _Yes!_ "

" _You'll embrace it?!_ "

" _Yes!_ "

" _Let me show you the Beauty Underneath!_ " and he lifted off his mask. I gasped and screamed. I had often wondered what was under Erik's mask, but I don't think my wild imagination could have cooked up what the mystery was under the white shield.

Not only did his mask fall off, his _hair_ fell off revealing long gray wisps. And under the mask was a deformity so disturbing and horrible. I can't put it in words, but I'll try: his lip was stretched out very wide and had slight bubbles like it had just been fried. A piece of his skull was missing and you could see some of his gray pulsating brain and parts of his skin looked like it had been savagely ripped by a wild, deranged cat. The skin was also cracked. I didn't run however; I stayed put. And the moment I had screamed, the dancers, lights, obelisks, the marionette, they disappeared. Erik had fallen to the ground on his knees and was still.

I walked toward him slowly and knelt next to him. "Erik, show me your face." " _No_." He sharply replied. "Erik, _please_. Let me see it." Slowly, he raised his head and looked at me. I let out a soft sigh of pity and held his face. He let out a gasp as I did so, but he didn't try to pull away. I traced my fingers over the rippled skin and held his cheek. "My poor friend, who did this to you?" He took my hand in his. "No one did this to me. I was born like this." He stood up. "Now I can't bring you here anymore. No doubt you think of me as something from the depths of hell and now you hate me. Come we must go." But I pulled him down. "Why would you ever think that?" He looked at me.

"When I was born, nobody loved me, not even my mother. In fact _she_ was the one who gave me my first mask. So I remained with my mask on; I became a scholar, architect, musician, and a composer. I even built a house of mirrors for the Shah of Persia and a torture chamber for his mother which greatly amused her. However, the Shah decided that I knew too much and sent out his chief Daroga* to eliminate me. However, the Daroga took pity on me by helping my escape and lying to the Shah about my death by saying he had sunk my ship on the Caspian Sea. And shortly after get back to France, my true face was discovered, and it was the end."

* _Persian officer_

"I was then taken by a circus and they locked me in a cage and then put a bag on my head. They treated me like an animal by flogging me and the fairgoers always threw things at me and hit me and cackled in my face. The only thing that made things slightly bearable was a small musical felt monkey on a lead box from Persia that the Ringmaster let me keep. That was how music became my life and salvation. But I escaped with the help of a woman who people now call Madame Giry. I then made myself a lair underneath the Paris Opera house."

My eyes widened. "Was it called the Opera Populaire?" Erik nodded.

"For years I haunted the Opera house. Until one day, I heard a girl from the corps de ballet singing and was hypnotized by her voice. I pretended to be her Angel of Music and gave her voice lessons. I got her the lead roles in _Hannibal_ and _Il Muto_ and even an opera of my own, _Don Juan Triumphant_. Her career went so high that she replaced Carlotta Guidicelli and became the lead soprano."

A thought had been creeping in the back of my mind when Erik told this part of the story and it was now confirmed. "You wrote _Don Juan Triumphant?!_ " Erik nodded " _You_ were my mother's teacher?!" He nodded again. "And you were in _love_ with her?!" Erik looked in my eyes with a glance of pained yet joyous reminiscence.

"Christine made me feel happier then I had ever felt before. She was always in my thoughts and in my dreams. She intoxicated me. I was anxious her career should progress. I was even going to ask her to marry me. And she loved me with all her heart. But then, she met up with a childhood friend who was the new patron for the opera; he was the Vicomte de Chagny and they fell in love. I was in a jealous rage for I had given her my music which was my soul and made her song take wing and now how she repaid me! I began killing and taking out my rage until your mother showed me I wasn't alone by kissing me. I was stunned; no woman had ever kissed me in my entire life. My anger melted, so I let her go."

"That was never easy. I did everything I could to remember Christine after she left. I even painted her picture. But I was dying inside because I hadn't heard her sing in a space of ten years, and that was what fed me and gave me strength to live. I never felt more then half alive after she left. I went to Coney Island to try and escape it, but the memories kept coming back to me whether I wanted them to or not. After ten years, I wrote to your mother and told her to come and she came with you. But she still despises me so my love was all for nothing." And Erik began to cry. In that dark with his face exposed, he looked like a pathetic little creature instead of that omnipotent king and you couldn't help but pity him.

After a few seconds, I gave him my handkerchief in my dress pocket. After he handed it back, I wiped away his tears with my thumb. "Do you think that your face would make me hate you?" Erik looked at me. I sighed with sadness.

"Erik, I do not hate you; I pity you. You have never been shown any kindness or compassion in your whole life because of your condition. Even when you gave my Mother your heart, she threw it in your face. But I am not like those people. I consider you a friend. You are the only person who truly understands how the night makes me feel. Father definitely doesn't understand it and Mother doesn't either. But you…you are able to put your feelings into your music the way I do. So do not feel that you are hideous for you are beautiful."

I gave Erik back his mask and his wig. He just stared at me for a few minutes before he put them on. After they were back on, he took my hands. His eyes looked like the burden of the world had been taken off of his shoulders and it was a new beginning. "Oh, Juliet, you are my saving grace!" And he hugged me, sobbing on the floor. I pushed away from him after we held each other tight.

"Erik, can I please see you more often? It would really make me happy. Can you give me voice lessons like you did for my Mother those years ago? Please, I'll keep my promise." He looked up at me, smiling. "Of course I will. We'll start tomorrow. Come back while your mother rehearses." He then took out a gold carved pocket watch. He stood up and held my hand. "I need to take you home now. Your Mother will wonder if you're alright. But promise me one thing: don't tell your Mother that I told you about us."

I nodded. "I won't even tell her about my lessons. I promise." "Good," Erik replied. "Now come, we must return."

Erik escorted me home personally. We went up the marble steps, through his domain, across the glassy lake, and up the stairs into Phantasma. Erik then opened a sewer lid in the street. "This is a shortcut. Come with me. I prefer people not to see me in the open." So, I took his hand and went down with him. Smoke billowed out, water trickled down a small stream, spiders skittered up walls, but with Erik, I felt brave. After we walked for a while, we came to a halt at a steel ladder. "Your hotel is up above," Erik said. He gave me a quick boost and shortly followed.

Sure enough, we were in the alley of my hotel. I looked up at the sky; when I had left, the sky was just black but it was now a tapestry of lights. "Erik, how long have I been with you?" "Hours at least." My eyes widened. " _Mon dieu!_ Mother must be worried sick!" Erik came up next to me. "I will take you up into your room." I looked into his eyes. "We're not going up the hotel's stairs, are we? On the night that I met you, I heard the sound of swishing cloth past my window." Erik smiled. "You're right; we won't go up the stairs." Then this is the amazing part: he grasped my hand... _and we ** flew**_.

I let out a gasp as he and I hurtled toward the stars, the heavens just within our grasp. We came to a stop at the balcony. As I was set down on the terrace, I stared at Erik, my eyes goggling. "How did you do _that_? You are _human_ , aren't you?" He laughed. "Yes, I am human, but an illusionist never gives away his secrets."

Erik opened the doors and he walked me to my room without being seen. I unmade the bed and tucked myself in. "Oh, Erik," I said my eyes searching for him in the dark, "I shall never forget tonight! It was wonderful! I'm so looking forward to our lessons! Thank you so much!" I felt him sat down on my bed and he stroked my face. "The pleasure was mine Juliet. I look forward to our lessons, too. I must speak to your mother now…don't worry," he added for my body tensed, "I won't tell her our little secret. I just need to ask her something. Now, get some sleep. Have wonderful dreams." I hugged him tight and he softly closed my door. I was so exuberant with joy that I didn't fall asleep for hours.


	5. Chapter 5

For the next few days while mother was at rehearsals, I would sneak of to the tent of mirrors and go down to Erik's domain myself. I would step in that magical room and Erik would come out with his candelabra. He would then sit down at the piano and teach me to sing. He played all of the songs that were in the tent of mirrors for he had written those songs himself. As a teacher, Erik was very much a perfectionist, but he never made me feel uncomfortable. He expected your best, but he would repay it to you with all the kindness in the world. Since I had also inherited my mother's soprano, Erik let me sing _the Point of No Return_ several times, which for me was a dream. He would of course accompany me as Don Juan and our duet would fill the room with such music that I'd never heard before.

A day later, Erik had to leave his domain and watch my mother practice his aria. As I sat at the piano, I had an impulsive idea. I rushed up to Erik's bookshelf which contained all of his scores that he wrote and I grabbed _Don Juan Triumphant_. I then snuck out of Erik's domain and ran out of Phantasma. I found a cabby and flagged it down. I paid the driver a few bills of American money. "New York Opera House, please." As we trotted off, I kept milling over the plan in my head; either it would work, or it wouldn't. However, a little flame of hope inside of me said that all would be well.

We pulled up at the Opera House and I walked in. A woman was at the desk in front. She was an old lady who was very uptight and wore a pouchy dress while reading a book. I cleared my throat. The woman looked down at me and put on glasses. "What do you want, girl?" "May I speak with the owner of this establishment?" The woman sat back. "What do you want to see him for?" I took a deep breath. "I have an opera that I'd like for him to commission." The woman looked at me dubiously. "Really? Did _you_ write it?" I shook my head. "Oh no, madam; this was written by a friend of mine." She just sat there with an eyebrow raised up like an angry black caterpillar. I started to become irked. "I'm not leaving until I see him and he reads the score." The woman raised her other eyebrow in shock, but she stood up. "Fine. One moment."

I waited for about five minutes when finally a tall thin man in a toothbrush mustache walked out in a sharp suit, looking down at me like a vulture on prey that they don't know is dead or not. "Come into my office, girl." I walked into a regular office and sat down in front of the man's desk. He studied me. "What's your name?" "Juliet de Chagny, sir." "Chagny? You're not from around here, are you?" "No, sir. I'm not even from this country. I live in Paris." The manager put his hand under his chin. "I suspected it was European. Your accent is untypical for a New Yorker. Who are your parents?" "My father is Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny and my Mother is Christine Daaè."

The man's eyes suddenly widened. "Christine Daaè? The lead soprano from the Opera Populaire?" I nodded. The man let out a gasp of delight. "I experienced all of your mother's greatest opera's. I was so saddened when the opera house burned down. So, what is this opera you'd like me to commission?" I smiled. "Well, sir, this is an opera my Mother was in called _Don Juan Triumphant_ by an old friend of hers and a friend of mine whose name is Erik. I don't know his last name. He is a brilliant composer and this was at the Opera Populaire. Please look at it."

I handed the man the score and he began to pursue it. I stared at my toes as they brushed the swirly carpet, biting my lip. I prayed that this man would commission it for if Erik asked for if he rejected it, my explanation to Erik about borrowing the manuscript would sound very lame and more of an excuse, so he wouldn't be thrilled. After a minute or two, the man closed _Don Juan_ and handed it back. He then began to think for a second as he handed me a chocolate from a tray. He then spoke.

"Well, this is an opera I certainly have never seen the likes of before. I don't think anyone has even attempted something like this at all in opera's history. The score is very beautiful; brooding, but nicely elegant so you don't overdo it and gets playful but haunting. It has everything and the lyrics accompany it nicely. My only problem is that the story is very…how shall one say… _intimate_. It is very compelling, but I think the audience would get uncomfortable in spots and they'd have to be constantly paying attention for the plot is a detailed one. Audiences would have to be _very_ open minded for this opera. I just don't know if I can risk it."

I leaned across the desk and looked at him. "Sometimes, it's good to take a risk. They can pay off. Look at Mozart; Emperor Joseph was taking a risk with a young artist, but his opera's are some of the best in the world. " He let out a chuckle. "You're really wise for a girl of your age, you know." He stood up and walked toward the window and stared out into the depths of the city's skyline, but he didn't really seem to see it. He turned. "Alright; I shall commission it. But only with the composer's consent." I gasped and jumped up and down giggling with glee. "Thank you, _monsieur_. I shall talk to the composer and we'll see."

As I went back to Coney Island, my temporary joy deflated down to permanent dread. Why? Erik. I knew he wasn't going to be thrilled, so I was going to have to explain the situation in a way that would make Erik understand. And sure enough, he was in a state when I got back. All of the bookshelves filled with Erik's scores had been emptied and sheet music was all over the floor. Erik was on his hands and knees searching in vain for his most coveted masterpiece. Then, he saw me holding the book.

Erik let out an enraged roar and grabbed _Don Juan_ , put it back on the piano, and tightly seized my wrist in one fluid move. "YOU HAVE SOME EXPLAINING TO DO YOU LITTLE PRYING PANDORA! YOU LITTLE DEMON! YOU LITTLE LYING DELILAH!" He threw me on the floor. "Erik," I trembled, "I can explain." Erik looked at me with absolute hate. "You'd damn well better and the explanation had better be good. You try my patience, girl." I was trembling on the floor. I had seen a different side to Erik. While he had a kind, sympathetic, suave, caring side to him, there was another deep layer underneath. It was darker and full of all the poisonous things that make up a person's dark side, and it's something that nobody wants to see emerge. This was not the Erik I knew and it was more horrid than his deformity.

"Erik, you wrote _Don Juan Triumphant_ and the only time it was performed was at the Opera Populaire in Paris, but nobody has really absorbed the beauty underneath of it all. I just wanted to share your music with the world. Was stealing the score unwise? Yes, very brash and foolish, but I wasn't thinking. I haven't done anything to damage its genius but I've done something wonderful." I took a deep breath; what I found exciting might seem like an act of betrayal for Erik. "The owner of the New York Opera House wants to commission it."

Erik did nothing; he just seemed to be drinking it in. After a while, he said. "I didn't have your Mother star in _Don Juan_ for pleasure of seeing her sing. It was blackmail for her and the Opera House to put it on otherwise a disaster beyond their imagination would occur. _Don Juan_ wasn't written for enjoyment, its soul purpose was black mail. And what's more, your _honorable_ father, the _Vicomte_ de Chagny, used my creation to trap me on the same night I lost my Christine. So not only would this be too painful for me, but I didn't even create this Opera out of joy and pleasure and passion for it was made out of lust and hatred and blackmail and jealousy. So you may think it beautiful, but it's just pure _sin_."

Erik slumped and clutched the piano, crumpling to the floor. I didn't know what to say. What do you say to someone who has poured out so much bitter passion as that? So, there was just silence all around for the longest time. But I wasn't about to let go of this. So, I came up with a compromise in my mind. I crawled over and gently touched Erik's arm. "Erik, let the manager commission the opera. No, Erik listen to me, don't shy away. We'll go to opening night together and if the reaction is good, we'll keep it going. And if it's too painful, we'll pull it out before it gets worse. Agreed?" Erik looked up and said with absolute bitterness, " _Fine_ , but if this doesn't work, you will curse the day you didn't do all that was asked of you, you little hellion brat. Understand?" Slightly hurt but understanding his loathing, I agreed.


	6. Chapter 6

For the next week, my day was as follows: I would go to Phantasma with mother and then hail a cabby which would take me to the New York Opera House. I would go in the audience and watch the rehearsals. Erik would be somewhere in one of the boxes watching the performance. Every so often, I would get a note that would have some of Erik's scrawl on it. Some of the things would be " _Change this key to that key. It's too sharp_ ," or " _Change that dance step to this to make it more graceful._ " But some of Erik's commands were not all that popular. Erik asked for a new third trombone and a new first bassoon which the commissioner wasn't to happy about being told how the opera should be run, but he did it. Then there was having a new choreographer and when Erik said some chorus members must be sacked, that made the commissioner almost have a heart attack.

He called me to his office that day. "The composer's commands are getting way out of hand! How dare he tell me to run this theatre and decide the fate of my employees! If he gives more demands like that, I won't put up with it. I'll ban him from rehearsals or if he pushes me more I'll snap his neck in two if I ever get even so much as a _glimpse_ of him!" That was too much for me. I snapped and slammed my hand on the desk. "If you want this opera to become your big success, you will have to follow this composer's instructions! Yes, he's tough, but that's because he's a talented man and knows when perfection is needed! And he's been right about every change so far! If you were a true patron of the arts, you wouldn't dare question him, but maybe you just belong in a banker's or lawyer's office instead! So I advise you to comply, or we'll take this somewhere else and you'll sorely regret it!"

The man was so taken aback by these lashing words coming out of a ten year old mouth that he never questioned Erik's authority again. So, rehearsals went on for some time and finally opening night came. I was in my room and had put on my best dress of airy midnight blue and black coat, but I was thinking the horrors I would be in for if this opera wasn't a success. Finally, Erik came in wearing a white tie suit and plainly elegant coat. He wasn't mad at me anymore, but he wasn't in a hurry to be happy and forgiving either. All he did was take my hand, had the two of us walk out the window, and we set off for the opera.

Erik already had the commissioner reserve Box 5 for us, which gave us a wonderful view of the stage. After I had read the program for the evening from cover to cover several times, the orchestra tuned up and the lights dimmed. The jabbering audience hushed and I leaned forward and held my breath as Erik sat down next to me with his hand on my shoulder. And up went the curtain, for _Don Juan Triumphant_ had begun.

The opening aria began with the fair maiden Aminta singing in the garden. Don Juan and his closest friend Passarino observe her and Don Juan falls for her and her beautiful body. His love and lust for her is deep, but he is terrified to even speak to her. So, Passarino pretends to be Don Juan and became acquaintances with Aminta, thus declaring the real Don Juan's passion for her. Aminta is flattered and returns home, where she broods over this mysterious man. Meanwhile, Don Juan decides to invite Aminta to his manor at a party, but he will still hide his face out of terror that if she saw the face of a fat hopeless man, she would cease to love him. When Aminta arrives, she and Don Juan seduce each other as they talk about how they are past " _the Point of No Return_." Aminta then out of curiosity unveils Don Juan's face, but she is instead still in love with him and they run off together. Passarino then emerges, jealous. He too loves Aminta, and this now meant war with his best friend. Then, the curtain fell for Act 1.

The audience's applause was mild. One half of me said _Well, of course they aren't to enthusiastic yet. Act one is a warm up for Act's 2 and 3. They'll be applauding more as the show progresses._ But the other half was thinking _Mild applause. This is not good. We may have to pull out this opera after all. God, I hope we don't, but that's what it seems like. And then I'll have to face Erik's wrath._ I then pondered over the cast. The man who played Don Juan had a nice tenor sound and could play love and lust at the same time. As for Aminta, she wasn't dumb, just absent minded with a deep brooding side. The soprano who played Aminta was able to portray the variety of sides Aminta had. As for Passarino, over time, the character would go from jealous, to denial, and then to what could be passed off as borderline insanity. Passarino's actor had yet to show us this, but he was giving us a good show so far. Then, onto Act 2.

Don Juan and Aminta are together in Don Juan's boudoir and for a more soothing yet jarring transition, he sings his praises for her. Don Juan leaves and Aminta converses with herself about how this man may not necessarily be what women dream but he is perfect all the same. Passarino creeps in which surprises Aminta and he slithers on Don Juan's bed. He repeats all of the flirts that he used before but while impersonating Don Juan. Aminta recognizes the voice and Passarino lies by saying those were his words, not his friend's. Aminta foolishly believes him but is unsure what to do. Passarino departs and proclaims he loves her too. Don Juan returns and Aminta tells him everything. In a rage, Don Juan leaves and confronts Passarino. They confront each other about Aminta and pour out their deepest love for her while spiting one another and trying to kill each other. Act 2 ended with them saying "It is to be war between us!"

The audience's applause was significantly more excited then last time. I still had hope, but I remembered Erik's hand on my shoulder and knew that the night was still young and there were miles to go before we slept. I looked up into Erik's face; impassive but I could see by his posture and the way he held my shoulder that he was thinking the same thoughts I was. And then began Act 3.

Act 3 was really where everything got serious. It starts out with Aminta sitting slightly distressed. She mentions of how Passarino and Don Juan are more interested in spiting each other then devoting their time to her. Don Juan enters and begins to sing to Aminta. It gets happier and happier as you go along with Aminta's worries slowly evaporating and then Don Juan proposes marriage which Aminta accepts with blessed relief from her worries. But Passarino comes in, having been eavesdropping and is in an outrage. He challenges Aminta by saying she truly loves him, but Aminta tells of her passion for Don Juan, and Passarino is pushed off the brink. He challenges Don Juan to a sword fight for Aminta's hand which he accepts and the two begin to battle. Aminta yells for them to stop, but they don't respond. Aminta's yelling keeps crescendo-ing but the men are totally absorbed. It's only when Aminta takes Don Juan's knife and puts the blade's tip to her breast that the men stop.

Both of them try to coax her to putting the knife down, but when they mention that they are better then the other man, Aminta breaks down. She declares that the men were just in it for the chase and the lust of it all and that they were only after the sinful things. She was never truly loved and she is not a prize for contenders to fight over, but she will now escape it all. She stabs herself and crumples to the ground. Don Juan yells her name and stabs Passarino's heart in a rage. He rushes to Aminta and holds her as he kisses her dead body.

Don Juan then realizes his actions for if he truly loved Aminta, he would have let her choose the man she loved and been happy for her happiness instead of covet her. He exclaims of how Aminta was purer than any woman in the world and deems himself responsible for her death. He cannot live with this burden and he kills himself, praying that if there is a God, he and Aminta's and Passarino's spirits will forgive him for this sin. And the opera ends.

There was dead silence for maybe five seconds. And then: "Bravo! Bravo!" and "Brava! Brava!" and "Bravissimo! Bravissima!" The audience was on its feet. I couldn't believe it; we had done it. _Don Juan Triumphant_ was a huge success. The actors came out to huge applause and then the commissioner of the opera gestured up to Box 5. The audience cheered so loud that I think everyone in Paris could have heard it. Erik's mouth was slightly open as if he couldn't believe that anyone could love his music like this. Unsure of what to do, but trying to be courteous, he stood up and bowed with the half of his face that was covered by the mask in shadow so the audience wouldn't get suspicious.

Now, from what I've written reader, you may think that this opera isn't special other than Act 3. And I agree with you; from what I've written the opera may seem like a common piece of work that nobody would listen to. But if you were in there, getting engulfed by the angelic music floating from the actor's mouths and the graceful swan like dancing, you would have felt like you were in another world and you wouldn't want to depart. Alas, dear reader, I wish you could have been there, for the experience of that night is something you will probably never see in this world now or ever again.

Everyone started to file out of the opera house as it buzzed with animated chatter, but I had eyes for only one person. Erik was sitting, staring at the audience as if the world had been turned upside down and he was trying to set it right. He finally spoke as he put his black ringed hand over his heart. "They loved my music." I leaned over, grinning. "You shouldn't doubt yourself so much. I didn't and I was right: you're music is beautiful." Erik looked into my eyes. "Juliet, I had made something for you in case tonight did go well." And he pulled from his coat pocket a black box with silver ribbon. I opened it and let out a long, astonished, happy breath as I gazed at the object set in the velvet lining. "Oh, my."

In the box was something that another person would have said "It's beautiful," and move on, but for Erik and I, this gift meant something to the both of us. It was all black with embossed silver carvings that looked like silky smoke and had diamonds on its stick and rims. And when you put them on, the crystalline glass was so clear that there was no dust or flecks on it. Even if dust did come down, there never was any on the lenses. The magnification was so sharply superb that as I gazed at audience members, I could see the lines in their faces and the color of their eyes. Erik's gift meant more to me than anything in the world. Have you guessed the gift yet, reader? If not, I will tell you. Erik had made me what is probably the world's most beautiful and finest pair of opera glasses.

I felt a few tears trickle down my cheeks but I still talked. "I only wish I had something that I could give you back." Erik shook his head. "While I am an adult, Juliet, I still have the insecurities of a child. Your Mother was right; the trued distortion lies not in my face, but not in my soul. But you are helping me to heal it. I will not deny that stealing my most coveted treasure wasn't a good decision at all, but some good things came out of it. You've helped me to open up and share my gift of music with the world through some of your stubbornness but also with your friendship, which is something I've never had. So don't feel that you have to repay me, for you already have, and I will be eternally grateful."

Then the waterworks really started coming. I leaned over and Erik and I tightly hugged each other. I could feel our bodies trembling and felt some tears drop onto my dress, but of course I didn't care. I wouldn't care either way. "Thank you, Erik." "You're welcome, Juliet."


	7. Chapter 7

I was escorted home once more and put to bed. Just so mother wouldn't get suspicious in the morning when she came to wake me up, I changed out of my dress into my nightgown. And then, the next morning was it: it was time for mother to perform at Phantasma. Mother put on her best dress of royal purple and had me wear my airy blue dress again. Father would meet us later at the park; he had gone out to "breakfast". But mother and I didn't mind, we just walked down to the park like we always did.

We had enough time to go around the park, so we went on some rides and went into some of the tents. Mother had always been working and she never really got to see the park that much, but we were able to go on all of the rides since the concert wasn't for several hours. We rode the merry-go-round, we went on the Ferris wheel, and went through all of the tents. I told mother facts about each attraction the further we progressed and the only time we stopped was for a bite to eat. And even though it didn't feel like we had been there for a long time, we eventually had to go back to the main stage.

At that time it was four thirty. There would be a half hour tech run. Then, Miss Fleck, Squelch, and Dr. Gangle would open the show and Meg Giry's Bathing Beauty act would be on for five minutes. Then, several other acts would perform (one was ten minutes, the rest were five) and at five thirty, mother would sing her aria that Erik wrote for her.

After the tech run, mother and I played games in her dressing room. I wanted to see Meg Giry, but Mother told me her act was more for the grownups and too mature for me. Plus I had heard the music, and for Erik's taste, it was dreadful and whiny to the ears. But nonetheless, I decided to congratulate Miss Giry as soon as her act was over. So, the minute I looked at the clock and saw that her act was done, I decided to go over to her dressing room. The door was slightly open and I heard Madame Giry's voice, so I decided to wait. But then, Meg let out a scream and the conversation was so audible that every word could be heard without leaning against the door. I peeped through the crack

Meg had her fist clenched against the wall and she was sobbing. Her mother was standing near hear, staring off into empty space, impassive, yet disgusted and she seemed not to hear her daughters sobs. "Mother, it can't be true, it can't!" Meg wailed.

"Meg, you sweet fool, you charming bright girl, you did all that you could but it wasn't enough."

"No, he was there, he was!"

"I know, Meg I know, everybody was entranced by you. Everyone but _him_." They were talking about Erik. "I would have though that after all we'd done for him, it would be enough. It was _us_ who smuggled him out of France when those vicious vipers were looking for him, _us_ who gave him the money, _us_ who lured the press, _us_ who bribed the politicians. But _think_ , girl, _think_! Why wasn't he there to watch you? It was _Christine_! We were automatically forgotten as he began to let himself go over her. And now that she is here to sing tonight, it is official: we will be no more. After tonight, we shall be replaced."

Meg brokenly screamed. In her hysteria, she snatched a nearby vase and flung it at her mirror. I witnessed the outburst in total shock as the shards of porcelain and glass rained down onto the floor, and Meg sank down, uncontrollably weeping and rocking back and forth. Her mother tried to comfort her, but Meg was totally shut off. Terrified, I bolted back to Mother's dressing room and ran to Mother's side. She immediately was concerned and demanded what was wrong, but I found myself unable to tell her about Meg's undoing. But Mother soothed, caressed, and stroked my hair, and I was eventually able to come out of my state. Pretty soon, it was time for Mother to get ready.


	8. Chapter 8

I sat down at her bureau and hummed a little song as Mother freshened up. "Juliet, could you please hand me those earrings? They're the amethyst ones on your left." The earrings were gorgeous, like little wine crystals. I handed them to her, and gazed up admiringly as she put them on. "There," she said, "how do I look?" I smiled. "Mother, you look beautiful, like a queen in a book." Mother skipped around the desk. We both laughed and she hugged me tight. "You too are beautiful. After this is over, we'll spend some more time together. Won't that be fun?" The dressing room door opened.

In stepped father, wearing a tuxedo and look rather dapper. It was neater than he normally looked any way. "Father, doesn't mother look lovely tonight?" I inquired. Father gazed into her eyes. "Indeed she does. Just like the first time I came to her dressing room door in Paris." "And look at you, Raoul," she replied, "you look like that handsome young boy in the opera box. The one who'd always toss me a single red rose." They looked into each others eyes and forgot I was there. This was one of those rare moments when I knew that mother and father cared for each other.

Father then put his hand on my shoulder. "Please, Juliet, would you wait outside a while? I need to speak with your mother privately." I obediently went to the door, but turned around. "But I don't want to miss Mother's aria." Mother opened the door and gave me a little push. "Go and wait back stage, dear. Father will fetch you and you can both watch from the wings." So I went out and the door closed behind me. But I didn't move a muscle. Father never ever spoke to Mother in privacy. If he had something to say, he would say it out in the open normally. My curiosity got the better of me, so I listened at the door. There was the sound of light feet (Mother's) walking across the room and a chair being pulled back. Father spoke first.

"Christine, since the day we were married, I know that things have fallen apart..."

"Raoul…" exasperated Mother in a "don't-put-me-through-this-again-I've-heard-it-before-voice," which was true. Father had always said something like this to mother, promising to stop his drinking and gambling habits and Mother would buy into it expecting different results, but no different results occurred. Father went on:

"I'm not proud of the way that I've acted…"

"We've both been…"

"The demands that I've made, causing our hopes to be mislaid, I'm aware of the price that they've exacted. Christine, I know I can't ask anything more of you, but I need you to do this one last thing for me. Please, if you love me as I love you, please do this."

Again, the sound of footsteps (heavier this time for it was father) moving across the floor and stopping. He was in front of Mother. I gritted my teeth; this wouldn't be father's "one last thing". The next day, he'd go back to drinking and gambling and asking mother for more and more money to settle his debts. I listened for her reply.

"Anything, darling."

I couldn't believe it; Mother had fallen into father's trap again. I listened for the "favor" waiting to see what it was going to be this time.

" _Don't_ sing the song, dear!" demanded father, with terrible urgency in his voice.

I stepped away from the door, taken aback. Father had never _ever_ told Mother not to sing. He knew singing was her life as much as I did. As much as father made so many demands of her, he had never asked her to give up singing at all. At once I knew this favor was serious and something really was wrong. But hearing Mother's voice begin to speak again, I put my ear back against the door.

"What?!" she exclaimed, mirroring my own shock.

"Dear, you have to know that something is terribly wrong! You can't sing this!"

"But, Raoul, I have to do this! We agreed to it. And it's too late anyway; the contract is signed and our payment is secure."

More sounds of heavy footsteps as father moved to the other side.

"That hell spawn demon has had us playing his little game for too long, dear. I don't want you taken in and hurt like you were all those years ago. I can't have you go through that again."

I became rigid. It was obvious that father was talking about Erik. How dare he speak about him that way! If only he knew what Erik had gone through! But then a thought came into my mind: did father not know that Erik was the park's owner? Did he just find out? Was he worried that Mother would sing for Erik and she would fall in love with him again and that father would be all alone? That wasn't true. Mother didn't love Erik anymore…or did she? Erik never did say that Mother had stopped loving him…I could have been wrong…but Mother spoke again.

"Let me just get through this. Please, I need to!" Mother begged with a tremor of a sob in her words. There were two soft thuds; father was on his knees.

"You need so much, I know. I've denied those needs of you. You need the man you knew back here beside you. You'll have him back, I vow! Just ask it of me, and he is yours. But we _must_ leave here now if you still love me."

There was a pause and the sound of lips pulling apart. I was floored; this was the most serious father had ever been about anything in a long time.

"But, darling, I'm due onstage in less than ten minutes! How can I possibly…"

"I beg of you Christine, please! Please, listen. I have passage for three to Cherbourg on the _Atlanta Queen_. It leaves tonight, let's be on it! For both of our sakes and for Juliet! Let us leave this place behind."

My head swam; Mother couldn't leave for Paris now! _I_ couldn't leave, not without saying goodbye to my friend!

"Alright. Go and find Juliet. But tell the stage manager not to disturb me, I'll need time."

I stepped away. I didn't want to leave! Not yet anyway! I needed to say good bye, but I doubt that I'd even have time for that! We'd probably be en route to Europe before the workers noticed anything.

There was silence, lips being pulled apart, and heavy footsteps toward the door. I ran from the door and hid behind a wall just as the door swept open and closed as father set out to look for me. Then, I heard the door handle jiggle; Mother was trying to get out, but was locked in. I hadn't heard the click of a lock either. Puzzled, I crept forward to make sure that father hadn't come back and turned the knob. At least, I tried, but it didn't budge. Then, I observed that the door had no keyhole or bolt or latch or any kind of locking mechanism on it. So how was it locked? As I racked my brains for answers, I became aware of a man's voice in the room. I leaned my ear against the door again.

"You know his love is not enough and it isn't what you need. I think that we all know that you're more extraordinary than that and need something more than his heart."

My heart jumped to my throat; Erik! He'd heard Mother and father's conversation! I began to sweat; would Erik punish Mother, would he hurt her? And another thought wormed its way into my head: if the door was locked, how did he come in and how did I not hear his footsteps across the floor? He had begun to sing to Mother and I drank in every word.

 _"_ _It's time to leave him in the dust,_

 _It's time to be who you should be!_

 _It's time to do now as you must_

 _And set the music in you free!"_

 _"In moments, mere moments, drums will roll_

 _There you'll stand just like before!_

 _The crowd will hush_

 _And then in one sweet rush,_

 _I will hear you sing, once more!"_

 _"And music, our music, will swell and then unwind,_

 _Like two strands of melody, at last entwined._

 _Fulfill us, complete us, make us whole!_

 _Seal our bond forever more!_

 _Tonight for me, embrace your destiny,_

 _Let me hear you sing once more!"_ and his voice faded away. Erik was gone.

Another pair of footsteps came down the hall. I hid behind the wall again, fearful that it was father. From the hallway came a man in a pair of overalls and wearing a cap. He gently knocked on the door. "Miss Daaè? You're on in two minutes, so we'd like you to come and stand by, please." There was a pause and Mother replied "I'll be there in a minute." The man walked away and I resumed my post.

The two men that my Mother had loved most in her life had given Mother a simple but difficult choice: sing the aria or don't sing the aria. The song that Erik wrote for her was about love itself. If she chose not to sing it, we'd all go back to Paris with our pockets empty, but father might sober up and eventually the money would come back. The downside was father might not keep his promise, Erik would be broken hearted, and Mother would regret her choice once more. If mother did sing, it would be a declaration of love for Erik and she would not have her true love slip through her fingers again. She would be happy. The downside to this was father would be broken hearted, Mother might get hurt by Erik in some way, and if a divorce should occur I might have to choose my parent. But a decision would have to be made and in less than two minutes.

Mother was babbling in her dressing room: "This is twisted in every way…but what answer can I give…I know I can't refuse and yet I wish I could…Oh, God!" and dead silence. After a short pause, the door handle turned. I went back to my hiding place and Mother came back out. She had an amethyst choker around her neck with the stones set in gold. Mother had never had a necklace like that in her possession, so either Erik or father gave her that when she came into the room. I followed her down the hall either to be lead to father looking for me or backstage. Sure enough, it was the stage area. I couldn't follow her, however, since a sign said "Performers and stagehands only." So, I went out into the audience.

I found a good seat up front, which was lucky since Christine Daaè was only performing one song for one night only and the house was packed as she hadn't performed since the opera house fire in 1895. There was the murmur of the crowd and the sound of the orchestra tuning up. I looked up and saw two opera boxes with one figure in each. It was father and Erik, both of them leaning forward and gazing at the stage with the same thoughts racing through their minds and etched on their faces plain as day. The lights then dimmed and a hush fell over the audience as the curtain drew back revealing a peacock feather background and a voice from above saying, "Ladies and gentleman, to sing for you tonight, please welcome the beautiful and wonderfully talented Christine Daaè."

The audience applauded and Mother tentatively walked out. Either she would tell the audience she wouldn't sing after all tonight and apologize or she would sing the aria. There was silence tinted with anticipation. The conductor looked up, waiting for Mother to open the song so the orchestra could start. A few seconds went by and someone coughed. Mother opened her mouth. I and two other people held our breaths bracing ourselves. And from her mouth, out came…


	9. Chapter 9

_"Who knows when love begins_  
 _Who knows what makes it start_  
 _One day it's simply there_  
 _Alive inside your heart_

 _It slips into your thoughts_  
 _It infiltrates your soul_  
 _It takes you by surprise_  
 _Then seizes full control_

 _Try to deny it_  
 _And try to protest_  
 _But love won't let you go_  
 _Once you've been possessed_

 _Love never dies_  
 _Love never falters_  
 _Once it has spoken_  
 _Love is yours_

 _Love never fades_  
 _Love never alters_  
 _Hearts may get broken_  
 _Love endures_  
 _Hearts may get broken_  
 _Love endures_

 _And soon as you submit_  
 _Surrender flesh and bone_  
 _That love takes on a life_  
 _Much bigger than your own_

 _It uses you at whim_  
 _And drives you to despair_  
 _And forces you to feel_  
 _More joy than you can bear_

 _Love gives you pleasure_  
 _And love brings you pain_  
 _And yet when both are gone_  
 _Love will still remain_

 _Once it has spoken_  
 _Love is yours_

 _Love never dies_  
 _Love never alters_

 _Hearts may get broken_  
 _Love endures_  
 _Hearts may get broken_

 _Love never dies_  
 _Love will continue_  
 _Love keeps on beating_  
 _When you're gone_

 _Love never dies_  
 _Once it is in you_  
 _Life may be fleeting_  
 _Love lives on_  
 _Life may be fleeting_

 _Love lives on!"_

And the aria ended.

The audience immediately jumped to its feet jubilantly, clapping so hard, I think their hands nearly bled. Mother beamed, her smile as bright as the stage lights as she curtsied gratefully to the appreciative audience. They were roaring and cheering in praise and threw roses onto the stage. I looked up to see if father threw one, but his box was empty. In fact, he had left right in the middle of the aria. Mother had made her choice, and it was all too much for him to bear. But a rose fell down from the other box and it was a creamy snow white with a black ribbon on the stem.

I looked up. Erik was on his feet applauding, shouting at the top of his voice, "Brava, Brava! Bravissima!" His smile was wider than I had ever seen it and with a flourish, he disappeared from view. I rose from my seat and went backstage. I skipped down the hall to Mother's dressing room, ready to congratulate her, when a hand grabbed my arm. It was Meg, her eyes slightly red and her persona eerily calm. She seemed to be in a sinister fog, as if her brain was addled.

"Juliet," she said in a sweet, empty voice, "I need you to come with me. Your Mother wants to see you outside." "Oh! Um, Miss Giry, you must be confused. I was supposed to meet Mother here in her dressing room so we could go out to dinner with father and celebrate. Now, if you would please excuse me." I tried to go, but Miss Giry only tightened her grip on my arm. "Juliet, I can't have you do that. You must come with me." "No, Miss Giry I don't want to. Now, please let me go!" But her grip became like an iron clamp causing her knuckles to turn white. "I'm warning you, if you don't come with me now…" she warned. I was fed up. "No, Miss Giry! For the last time, I can't! Let me go, your hurting me!" As quick as a flash of lightning, Miss Giry pulled out a long silver pistol and jammed the barrel next to my temple.

I immediately stopped squirming the moment I felt the cold, biting steel and swiveled my eyes toward Miss Giry's hand on the gun's trigger. I hyperventilated and began to sweat while Fear's icy hand clutched me in triumph. Miss Giry came nose to nose with me, her face exuding loathing and rage. "You'll do exactly what I say, you little bitch, or my finger might just slip and the pain in your arm will seem like a tiny pinch compared with this bullet, understand?!" I nodded slightly. This seemed to calm her down and she put the gun at my back. "Good, now walk, and go where I say."

I didn't have much of a choice, so I caved in. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Miss Fleck stare after us. I only prayed silently that she'd get Mother or Erik to come help. We walked out of the theatre, out of Phantasma, and down the street, blending in with the crowd of people as the night began. Only this time, the darkness wasn't so welcoming. We finally came to a dock and Miss Giry wrenched my hand dragging me up onto a luminous deck high above the sea in her comatose state. I began to break as I saw the churning merciless water below. "Please, Miss Giry, I want to go back!" She stared at me. "I can't swim! That's one of the reasons I came to Coney Island; I wanted to learn how. Oh, Holy God, _please_ take me back to my Mother!" But Miss Giry then began to talk absently as if in a different world and as if she could hear me, but didn't listen to the context of my words.

"Don't worry, Juliet. The sea is calm and gray." I tried to slow her down by dragging my feet, but she still pulled me along. "The water washes everything away for you. And don't worry if you can't swim, for it's almost over." She held my face and I cringed, jerking my head away. She went on, "Sink into the blue, cool, kind, deepness of it. Then drift off to sleep as the hurt is forgotten as the past is unwound." We were now at the edge and my head repeated over and over _This is it, I'm going to die. Goodbye Mother, Goodbye Erik, Goodbye father. God, forgive me for going with her._ And then there came a miracle: "Juliet! Juliet!" It was Mother yelling, rushing toward me with Erik beside her and Madame Giry bringing up the rear.

"Let the girl go!" Erik cried as they rushed up the deck, "Let her go now!" Meg immediately seized me by the neck and pushed me so I was leaning over the water. I grabbed the pole of a lamp to keep my balance and tried not to look down. Mother screamed and ran forward, but Meg leaned me back farther. "Not another step!" Mother retreated back and Erik stayed where he was with his hands outstretched. Meg looked at Erik with sinister triumph. "I always wondered how I could make you watch! Well, watch me now!" And she spitefully rambled on:

"You don't know what I've gone through! The only reason I came to this cold, uncaring country was because of you! I only did it because mother told me that you needed our help, so I tried to do what I could to help you reach the pinnacle of your career. I worked myself to the bone to make money so that you would have riches beyond any person's wildest dreams! But that's not how it works on Coney Island, for you have to pay for every crumb. And so, I gave whatever they would take, _just for you_! And I had already become Bathing Beauty on a beach! Bathing Beauty in her dressing room! Bathing Beauty in the dark, in their arms, on their laps, in their beds!" Only until I matured did I understand Meg's words; she had degraded herself by becoming a whore and resorting to prostitution. "Oh, Meg! My poor little girl!" cried Madame Giry. Apparently, this was the first Meg's mother had ever heard about this and it broke her heart.

"And who kept singing and dancing and dying up there hoping for your favor and attention so that she could be saved? I sacrificed everything for you and this is what you have given me as compensation?! And then _she_ came," Meg spat, pointing at Mother, "and I was totally erased from your mind, wasn't I?! I had sold myself, you ignored me, you replaced me, but knowing _she_ was the cause was the straw that broke this camel's back. So, I hope that you will never forget me after this!" And Meg pulled me up, dangled me over the sea and put the gun back against my head.

"No! Juliet!" Mother wailed. "Meg, let the girl go, please! I beg of you! For God's sake let her go!" Erik cried. And miraculously, Meg stood me back up and set me free. I rushed toward Mother, who clutched me and kissed me and rubbed my hair as if she'd never let me go. "My darling girl!" she sobbed, "Oh, my treasure!" Erik rushed over and knelt down. I turned my head and he brushed the hair from my eyes. "Are you alright?" I nodded and hugged him tight for a few seconds until he stood back up to deal with Meg. Mother tried to hug me again, but I pulled away. Severely traumatized and overwhelmingly queasy, I retched over the side of the deck. I looked back up at Erik and Meg.

"Well, now that I've got your attention at long last," Meg sobbed as she brandished the gun at Erik, "here's the big finish and then you can go!" And she held the gun under her chin with her eyes shut. "No, Meg! Don't!" screamed Madame Giry. She rushed forward, but Erik used his other arm to restrain her. He started toward Meg very slowly, his arm still outstretched. "Meg, give me the gun. Give me the hurt and the pain," he coaxed, "Give me the full blame for not seeing the things that you have done for me, Meg. Give me the gun. Give me the chance to see you clearly at last." And he began to sing and it then dawned on me.

Erik had that way of singing that wormed its way into your thoughts and rested there firmly, draining everything else away like a parasite. It wasn't just like a spell or being possessed or hypnotized; it was a call. And when you heard the call, you had to obey it. It would take a while, but you had to succumb to it or you would never forgive yourself. Well, the truth was that Erik was actually possessing people with his voice. It wasn't just a way to describe what he was doing, it was the actual way he was doing it. Mother had succumbed to it, I had succumbed to it, and now Meg would succumb to it as well. And for a while, it was working. As Erik sang, Meg gradually began to lower the gun and hand it to him.

 _"You feel robbed of love and pride,_

 _Been ignored and pushed aside._

 _Ah, but me!_

 _I can see all the Beauty Underneath._

 _You feel ugly, you feel used._

 _You feel broken, you feel bruised._

 _Even so, I still know,_

 _There is Beauty Underneath._

 _Diamonds never sparkle bright_

 _If they aren't set just right._

 _Beauty sometimes goes unseen,_

 _But you can be like Christine."_

And the moment Erik said "Christine," the spell broke. Meg finally had shattered at last. She scoffed. " _Christine?!_ Oh, of course! It's always about Christine!" She flailed the gun about and it went off. There was a tense silence as we all looked around for where the bullet made its mark. And then we all saw the dark stain on Mother's stomach, blooming like a rose on her dress. There was a second as disbelieving shock hung in the air. And Mother collapsed onto the ground.

"NO!" Erik and I screamed. Meg's eyes popped and she screamed like a wounded banshee. We all rushed toward Mother. Erik grabbed her and leaned her body up against his chest and began to rock back and forth. Meg came stumbling forward exclaiming: "Christine! Oh, dear God, what have I done?! I didn't mean to! It just went off! Please, Christine, forgive me! Let me help you!" And she tried to touch Mother, but I whirled around. "DON'T YOU _DARE_ TOUCH HER!" I shrieked. "Madame Giry!" Erik cried turning toward the shocked, sobbing woman, "Get help! Quickly!" Madame Giry nodded. "Meg, come! Let's go to the police!" She grabbed Meg's wrist and they ran off.

I clutched Mother's hand. She was sweating profusely and her breath was coming out in shallow shudders. The blood stain was getting bigger each minute. Erik kissed her head and smoothed her hair feverishly, trying to soothe her to no avail. I looked wildly around. "Father! Where's father?!" I stood up to scan the crowd of people far off. "Juliet," Mother said shakily, "there's something I need to tell you." I kneeled down and looked into her eyes. "Your Father…" she began, but Erik cut her off. "Christine, no!" Mother looked into his eyes. "I know, I promised you. But you're all she has now. She has to know the truth." "Christine, please!" Erik sobbed and his voice faded as he lowered his head. Mother squeezed my hand and looked back into my face. "Juliet, your Father…your real Father…is here."

My eyes widened and I stared into Erik's face. And it all made sense: why there was music in my head, why I had an obsession with the night, why I didn't have any of father's traits in me, why Meg had chosen me specifically to target so she could get to Erik…and yet…part of me didn't want him as my Father.

Now, reader, you're probably reading this and thinking that I'm insane. I mean, Erik was the most perfect man I could have for a Father but instead I had wound up with an alcoholic gambler who I thought was my father and I would welcome my real one with open arms in ecstasy (if it weren't for Mother being shot, for feeling ecstatic at that moment would've been inappropriate). But imagine yourself in my position, whether your Father was nasty or not. You had a man with you your whole life who fed you, raised you, and clothed you. And then comes along some man who was a stranger/friend and you find out he is your real Father. Would you want to give up your "father" that easily? You see what I mean? And "father" hadn't always been that bad. I did have pleasant memories of him before the drinking started. A small part of me was still attached to those memories didn't want to let that go for all the gold in Heaven, but I knew that I would have to accept Erik as my Father or I'd have nothing.

Mother spoke to me. "Juliet, you are all each other has now. Promise me that you accept him?" The tears were pouring out of my eyes as I clutched her hand. Accepting Erik would have to be my final choice, whether I wanted it to be or not. "I promise Mother. But do you want me to find the Vicomte de Chagny and bring him here to say goodbye? I can find him, I know." Mother nodded her head. I brought my face closer to hers. "Mother, if you are…" I couldn't get the word out. "…gone when I come back, I just want you to know this: I love you so much. I have always admired you and I will try to live up to your legacy as best as I can and that's a promise. I swear it to you. I can't think of anyone else I could have for my Mother and I'm grateful. I love you, Mother." She feebly kissed my head and smiled. "I love you, too, Juliet. You are the best daughter a Mother could ask for. Now hurry, find Raoul before he leaves." And without looking back, I ran.

I dodged through the crowd of people to find father…I mean, Vicomte de Chagny. The _Atlanta Queen_ had already moored in the harbor and I knew time was running out. Eventually, I spotted him, still in his suit with a battered suitcase. "Vicomte!" I shouted, "Vicomte!" He saw me running. "Juliet? What's the matter? And why aren't you calling me Father?" he shouted. I reached him. "You have to come with me! It's Mother!" The Vicomte's eyes froze and he turned away. "I can't come back; she's made her choice, and I must leave." And he started to walk off. "But Vicomte, you have to! Mother's been shot!" Immediately he turned around. "What?! By who?! It was that hell spawn demon, wasn't it?! I tear him limb from limb once I get my hands on him!" And he rushed forward but, I pulled him back. "It wasn't _monsieur_ Erik, it was Meg! Mother wants to see you one last time, hurry!" The Vicomte dropped his suitcase and we ran off.

I had never run faster in my life. I kept repeating in my head: _don't let her be dead when I get back, don't let her be dead when I get back, don't let her be dead when I get back!_ But when Vicomte de Chagny and I reached the deck, we saw that we hadn't come quickly enough; it was too late. She was dead. Erik had her body laid across his lap and was hyperventilating as his face was submerged in her hair. I burst into tears and threw myself upon Mother's skirt, never wanting to come out. But the satin creases in the dress shifted, signaling that Erik had handed Mother to the Vicomte. I looked at the man who had once been my Father through tear blotted eyes and saw a man whose life had been taken from him and he couldn't go on.

The deck began to creak. I rubbed my eyes and watched Erik walk up the deck to the edge. He stared at the hurtling fathoms below churning on and on as if the sea was the only thing that would relieve his pain. I couldn't let that happen. I stood up and silently walked over not wanting to shock him. He rested his hand on the deck's railing, but I reassuringly touched his arm. "Don't. If you're my Father, then you're all that I have left. So, don't. For if you go too, I won't be able to bear the grief." He kneeled down and gazed at Mother. He turned his gaze toward me and feebly sang:

" _Love never dies_

 _Love never falters_  
 _Once it has spoken_  
 _Love is yours_

 _Love never fades_  
 _Love never alters_  
 _Hearts may get broken_  
 _Love endures."_

This was too much for the both of us. We both broke and tightly embraced, our tears mingling with each other. Erik also kissed me on my head, and it felt like little sparks were going off on my skin. The Vicomte had never kissed me with such love or emotion when he was my father. I pushed away and put my hand on his mask. He sharply inhaled, but I gently lifted it off and the wig didn't fall off this time. I stroked that tortured face and simply said, "She really did love you. And love you too…Father."


	10. Chapter 10

Epilogue:

The Giry's really had gone off to get help, but they were beyond too late when the police arrived. Meg had confessed everything and was put into prison. But on the day of her trial, they found her on the floor of her dirty cell with her wrists slit and pouring out blood. She had also left a note saying: "Forgive me, Christine."

Father was never able to forgive Madame Giry for letting her daughter go that far or for even coming to him for help to rescue Meg. Madame Giry resigned from Phantasma in disgrace and returned to France, where she now lives a quiet life cut off from the world as she drowns herself in morbid despair.

Mother was buried next to her Father, Gustave Daaè, in their homeland in a little graveyard by the sea. The attendants at the funeral other than the Vicomte and Father and myself were the manager of the New York Opera House, Mother's other friends from the corps de ballet, her old employers _Monsieur_ Firmin and _Monsieur_ Andre, and countless others whose names I've either forgotten or who wish to remain anonymous in this story.

A while after the funeral, Father came back to tell the Vicomte the truth. Mother had written him and me a letter that had originally not meant to have been opened until the right time, but the time had come quicker than we'd have ever thought. The night before Mother married Raoul ten years ago, she decided to find Father when everyone thought him dead and tell him she had to leave. But when she did find him, one thing lead to another and Mother realized that her real true love was Erik. But, ashamed of himself for letting himself go this far, Erik disappeared and Mother was left alone.

When I befriended Erik, he realized the truth and confronted Mother. She confessed and they both decided I wasn't to know until I was mature enough to handle the story of my parentage. Mother decided to write it down as a letter, believing that when the time came, she wouldn't be able to get the whole story out.

The Vicomte gave up and let Father take me away. I felt sorry for him; he had lost everything that mattered to him and was now bestowed with nothing. And in honor of Mother, I changed my last name from de Chagny to Daaè so I'd never forget. We couldn't remain in Paris for Father was still sure that someone was still after him and trying to kill him. So, we went back to Coney Island and we now live their permanently.

Father still owns Phantasma, but is less involved with it than he was five years ago. A year after Mother died when we had settled here, Father built the Daaè Opera House and is the soul owner of it. The place is like a cathedral and you feel glorified whenever you step foot into it. Father's portrait of Mother is also there, with a small dedication to her which simply says, "Love Never Dies - Christine Daaè." He writes music for all of the opera's and also welcomes young, new composers to share their work with the world as well.

The opera house opened on the anniversary of Mother's death and it's a huge success. People keep coming back over and over and always applaud the loudest for Father and I up in Box 5.

Father is now immersed in music, but is still filled with life. He rarely draws back into his grief, but he always comes out when he does. He is the most wonderful Father anyone could ever have in their life.

I help Father run Phantasma now and I even star in some of his opera's, which make me feel closer to Mother than I ever felt before. We both live in our manor by the sea on Coney Island.

But the most important change that came was the mask. When the audience was ready, we handed them a small book on one of our anniversaries titled: "Once Upon Another Time," a brief history of Father's life, from his successes to his failures. But we also talked in real detail about his deformity and that was why he always wore a mask, because of the way people treated him. That same night, Father unveiled his face, but the audience still kept coming and treated him with respect. It was a large overwhelming love that Father had never felt before, except from me and my Mother and he remains eternally grateful to his patrons for their love and support.

Erik never wore the mask again.


End file.
